


Atonement

by Savageseraph



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Clumsiness, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Spies & Secret Agents, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to hurt before you can heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



> Yuletide 2008 fic written for [](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/)**caras_galadhon**.

In the weeks since Semyon's fall, Nikolai asks himself the question his handlers have been asking him: "Why do you stay?" The answer he gives them is as simple as the question itself, "Because it is my job." He wonders how long that will satisfy them, how long it will take for them to point out there are other jobs, more important ones, for him to move on to. He wonders when they will realize that he is helping to keep the family propped up by keeping Kirill steady just as much as he is helping them through the information he funnels to them.

Nikolai has no illusions about his job: it is to lie in order to serve the truth. Lie to Kirill so he can get inside the family's defenses--_inside Kirill's defenses_. Lie to the family's guards so they accept him as one of them. Lie to Semyon so he can gain his confidence and access to the information he needs. Lying is not an admirable talent, but then few of the things Nikolai excels at are. He accepts this, embraces it each day when he casts his net of lies to trap what scraps of truth he can. He hopes he will manage not to get strangled in his own snares.

Lucky for Nikolai, he is a good fisherman. His uncle taught him the knack, and even though decades of sin and attempts at atonement separate him from the boy sitting on the dock waiting for a bite, he still remembers the virtues he learned then: focus, stillness, silence, patience. They are his constant companions. They help keep the man he is today alive.

They are completely at odds with Kirill's reckless, manic energy. If Nikolai is honest with himself--and he usually is--that fire is one of the things that draws him to Kirill. He wonders what it would feel like to have the freedom to speak, to act, to respond, with such abandon. Nikolai shivers as the thought sends coils of delight and dread pulsing through him.

"Are you cold, Kolya?"

Nikolai tenses slightly, puts down the glass of vodka he has just poured, as he feels Kirill's breath against the back of his neck. He doesn't need to turn in order to know that all he would have to do is lean back and their bodies would be touching. His job is getting harder, just as it gets harder to manage Kirill. Especially when the two of them are alone.

"Nyet. Just tired." Nikolai refuses to let himself respond to Kirill's heat.

"It has been a long day." Kirill laughs, as his hand comes to rest on Nikolai's shoulder. "I'm surprised Poppa had time to cook and run the restaurant and his business." Kirill's hand slides down Nikolai's back, comes to rest on his hip.

There are times when saying nothing is best, so Nikolai takes a swallow of vodka. He carefully does not move into or away from Kirill's touch and lets the silence spin out between them.

Naturally, it is Kirill who breaks it as he leans closer. His breath tickles Nikolai's ear, even as his lips lightly brush against it. "I still think about that night, Kolya. By the river. I can't stop thinking about it."

_The night you tried to drown your baby sister?_ If Nikolai were more like Kirill, he might have spoken the words aloud, but he doesn't, because he doesn't ever forget that, unlike the baby, Kirill is equal parts victim and predator. It is a dangerous combination in the best men; however, in a man like Kirill, it often proves fatal. A man leashed so long by fear does not have the discipline to manage his freedom. He...oversteps.

"It's wrong, isn't it?" Kirill's hand slides off Nikolai's hip, covers his fly.

Nikolai wets his lips. The question is about more than that one night, and it is a question he can't answer. If he says, "No," he might find Kirill's hand inside his pants instead of on top of them. If he says, "Yes," he might find a knife there instead.

"There are lots of things that are wrong, da?"

"Da, Kirill. There are." Nikolai keeps his tone soft, careful, free from any edge of disapproval or anger.

Kirill's fingers go to Nikolai's belt, his other arm wrapping around as he undoes Nikolai's belt, then his pants, shoving them both off his hips.

"They're wrong, but we do them anyhow, don't we?"

The lie is on Nikolai's lips before he manages to swallow it. Even he isn't good enough to make Kirill believe it. Especially not when the question is as much asking for an opinion as it is asking permission. "Da, da, Kirill. We do."

Kirill shivers as he groans softly. He undoes his own pants with more haste than he had Nikolai's, and after freeing his cock, he presses his erection firmly against Nikolai's ass.

Nikolai closes his eyes. He has been through worse in prison. Far worse. He has done worse to other partners, ones who were willing and ones who needed some convincing to share his bed. There is the sound of crinkling behind him, and Nikolai relaxes slightly, relieved that Kirill at least seems acquainted with condoms and lube. However, when the other man presses his slick cock against Nikolai, it's clear there are other things he needs schooling on. Nikolai bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood as he tries to relax while Kirill fights his way inside.

Just like the whore he'd taken with Kirill watching, Nikolai doesn't make a sound while Kirill forces him open, when he rolls his hips once he is seated deep. He doesn't cry out at Kirill's thrusts, even though they are short, hard, and more than a little clumsy. He does what the whore had done for him: spread his legs wider, arch his back, tighten around Kirill to try to finish him more quickly. His control meant she had a longer ride than she expected, but Kirill is not so disciplined. It isn't long before Kirill's cock twitches, and after his hips jerk several times, he comes with a deep groan.

Nikolai groans softly as he shifts enough to support some of Kirill's weight as the other man slumps against his back to recover. His own body already aches from the rough, clumsy fucking and still healing wounds won in the knife fight that nearly killed him. He wonders what is stronger: his relief that Kirill wasn't able to use pleasure against him to make him come undone or disappointment that only someone more accomplished could do so.

_Why do you stay?_ As Nikolai feels Kirill softening inside him, feels sweat or come tricking down the inside of one thigh, he knows it's not just because this is his job. He thinks it might be for atonement for the stain of the sins he wears on his skin and the deeper ones, the darker ones, the ones that only he can see.


End file.
